People. I HAVE NEWS. I’m rich. Yes. Very, very , fabulously, enviably rich. I’ve got lottery winnings coming in from my email, my mobile, my ears and my nose. Okay not my ears or my nose. But yeah! I’ve won so many pounds (like in British currency, not weight) followed by even more zeroes in the last 30 days. A real number followed SO MANY zeroes that it would just be plain tacky to count them! I’ve won a zillion from MSN and Yahoo sweepstakes. Then some billions from enterprises right from Japan to Brazil. Then enough from BMW to fill my entire street with their cars. Maybe I should talk to them about the exchange. I rather like the imagery of my entire street lined up with cars with the registration D@NN13. Actually BMW is in this “Take! Take! Dannie, take our money. Oh Dannie, please take our money” mode. I’ve won the lottery so many times. You’d think someone offering this much money wouldn’t be so desperate and particular about ONE person claiming their winnings. I mean I feel more special than Jesus, Neo and Buddha all put together. Cos I’m tha chosen one! I must have won that particular lottery like ten times by now. But in all honesty, it does feel like a bitchslap, cos I’m sitting on all this illiquid (read imaginary) money and in reality I have no job and am more broke than a Ming vase that crashed into a million pieces on the floor.
But technically I’m rich. Cos I have won more money in the last one month than Mukesh Ambani made in the same time period. Well if he made more, life is just not fair and I’m going to sue. Someone. Anyone. I have enough money. So what do I do with all this money?
Maybe I should mindlessly spend it on Louis Vuittons and Guccis and Jimmy Choos and all those fancy names I haven’t bothered learning how to pronounce, because the chances of me asking for them over the counter is like, umm, improbable! Until now, i.e! But nyeaaah, I don’t think so. Not exciting enough.
Or maybe I should adopt Africa. That will show Angelina Jolie. Hmph. The show off! But somehow I think it’ll cost me a lot more to buy Africa. Fecking De Beers and all have beat me to it. So that’s off the agenda. But I’d dearly have loved to steal her thunder. It’s like the woman is monopolizing the weather department. Aah well!
Or maybe I should turn fundu. Oooooh I like that. With a cause and all! I could really fund a fundamentalist outfit with all this money. And I could get a bazooka. I’ve always lusted after one of those. A bazooka kicks a Hermés bag’s ass, don’t you think? Move over Osama. Danger Dan is here. Jeeez that makes me sound like a superhero with costume-related dyslexia. You know, I’ve often wondered why superheroes wear their undies over their clothes. You’d think their super brains would have figured that one out. Maybe in their hurry they always forget to wear it first when they change. And they realize it only once they’re fully dressed and then they put it on anyway for decency sake. (Superman: “Dang! Forgot to put on those damn jockeys again. Doubt if that three-eyed Godzilla timeout his city-destruction plans till I get this stooopid sticky spandex stocking I call a costume off and put it on all over again. Aaah heck..I’ll wear my undies over my costume. Batty and most of the justice troop do it as well. But I must talk to my stylist! I really should! Must get rid of my favourite flying saucer undies!!”) Talk about job stress!
Errrr..sorry about going totally off the subject. We were talking about me turning fundamentalist. Yeah. I think I’ll be fine in jeans. Maybe I’ll wear a Red Indian’s headdress. NOW there’s a plan!! I’ll get Karl Lagerfeld design one for me! Maybe in pink! I like pink you know! Or maybe not. Paris Hilton will copy me. Or maybe I should patent it and bazooka any likely copycats into the next galaxy. I think I like that plan best.
Now for the multimillion dollar question. Who wants to be in my will, hmmmm?